


On My Shoulder

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Gen, Holocaust, Holocaust references, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonel Klink must make a deal with the devil to fight true evil. He appreciates having his personal devil locked up in camp when this need arises, because that must be what Hogan is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On My Shoulder

I saw a comic years ago, and even then it was an old concept. A man has to make a decision, so an angel pops up on his right shoulder to guide him down the correct path. Quite naturally, a devil appears over the left shoulder to explain why it’s fine to do whatever he wants. I’ve never had that happen, usually knowing which decision was honorable without help. Often I made the choice that was practical, not honorable, but I knew the difference.

They were the correct decisions to keep me comfortable physically. I covered my inabilities with a sycophantic nature that made me too nice for the ego to get rid of. I hid my wish to improve the world behind a need to not get hurt. I buried my desires for a mask of respectability. If I’m honest with myself, and the pictures in my briefcase force me to be brutally honest, I’m a coward. 

I knew I was an undesirable but I had successfully hidden that about myself for so long that when they were rounded up, nobody thought to come for me. Or nobody thought of me, and for once in my life it was a benefit instead of a curse to be forgettable. I should have fought for those I could so easily have been one of. I could have gone most of my life without knowing that, or being forced to face my limitations. But then the devil appeared on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. 

I didn’t realize who he was at first, because he didn’t look like me in a red suit and horns. For one thing, I didn’t even have that much hair as a child. Now’s not the time for humor or the distraction Hogan is. Usually at night, I allow myself to get distracted by him. In the light of day, it takes all my will, no not will power, _fear_. It takes all my fear of getting caught to hide my feelings behind the mask of an enemy. When Hogan is vivid and real, and I find myself basking in his presence, it takes all of my fear to keep from telling him. I don’t understand much of what goes on around him or through his head, but I have absolutely no idea what his reaction would be to my crazy emotions. 

That one officer told me I had an eagle in my cage, and I was surprised. These descriptive words came after I had started thinking of Hogan as a temptation. Then I recognized him as a devil, and finally as my personal devil. Hogan was whispering in my ear as I made a phone call, doing something he had talked me into for some reason. I fought back the shiver that his voice sent crawling up my spine and forced myself to pay attention to the real world. 

Hogan spoke, and a short time later POWs escaped from another camp and something in Germany blew up. No connection, just a reoccurring coincidence I don’t let myself see. I resist him more than anything else in my life up to this point, and he still gets his way. And now, the only possible solution to the problem in my briefcase is my personal devil. My briefcase holds stolen evidence of a far greater evil. The lesser of two evils, the devil you know and other clichés as well have brought me to this conclusion. 

The searchlights of Stalag 13 are visible now and I’ve come to a decision. That makes it sound like I ever had a choice. The instant I saw the pictures I knew. I knew I had sold my soul to the devil for my safety, and I’d have to give up what I sold my soul for in order to do one spot of good in this world. By making a deal with my own personal devil, I am taking a real risk of facing the fires of hell that much sooner. One photograph and I knew I’d have to let Hogan tell me what to do. I threw up on the third picture and could look no further than the fourth. 

A quick light on my face and I’m through the main gate. I park in front of the Kommandantour and pick up my briefcase like it has an explosive in it. I head for barracks two, confusing the night guard. He stands aside to let me enter and I tell him to go back to his rounds. I almost add that I need to speak to the devil. I know most of what I say comes out sounding stupid, but I must filter out my true feelings, and stupidity is the price I pay for that. Tonight, I cannot shift away and hide behind myself. I must be honest and sincere because there is more at stake here then what Hogan thinks of me. 

The lights are out and there are snores in the barracks, but I still feel eyes watching me walk to Hogan’s office. I get a confused moment as I touch the doorknob. Part of me hopes he’s ‘out’ and I can forget about my mission, or put it off for another night. Fear of losing my resolve and fear of where he would be if he wasn’t here causes me to hold my breath as I open the door. There is a lamp outlined by the occasional searchlight through the poorly constructed window. Walking over to turn it on delays me having to make sure of Hogan’s presence for that much longer. I risk looking and find Hogan rubbing his eyes. He yawns and blinks up at me before moving into a sitting position. 

“Did you come to brag about your latest fraulein?” 

I don’t reply, choosing to sit on the chair with great care. He must have seen something on my face though, because he simply sits and waits for me to talk. I reach for the briefcase and take the pictures in my right hand. I can’t pull them out into the light without some sort of warning, so I have to find words. 

“Hogan, I was at that party for Burkhaulter’s birthday. These Gestapo officer’s were passing around a huge stack of pictures. They were laughing, but as usual I was left out of the joke. Feeling my liquid courage, when they weren’t looking I grabbed some off the top. Like a twelve year old, I snuck off to the bathroom expecting pornography.” 

My explanation trails off as the pictures flash through my memory. I have a terrible memory, but I know I’ll never forget those pictures. Naked bodies stacked like wood, skeleton’s with guns to the back of their heads, bodies and piles of filth in a box car. A man screaming as they hold his testicles up to his face, blood pouring from where they should be. He wore the pink triangle of a homosexual. Undesirables, all. 

There is something more I need to say. “I overheard they were taken in March, at a place called Dachau, in Bavaria.” 

Hogan’s curious but wary, eyes narrowed and focused. I wish I could enjoy that look as he so often plays the buffoon with me. Instead I close my eyes and hand him the stack. I hear him slowly slide the top photo to the bottom, but don’t know if it was nine or ten times he did it. For such a small number it takes a long time, because they are impossible to believe. I stopped looking after the fourth one, I couldn’t take anymore. When I’m sure the noise has stopped, I open my eyes and see the look he is giving me. It sends an entirely new and different shiver up my spine. Others have said it, but that look is the first proof I’ve had that I have an eagle in my flimsy songbird cage. A true predator, my devil is a dangerous man. 

“God in heaven, I swear I didn’t know! I was told camps and working for the German good, nothing about this! There is no excuse for this kind of evil. Or my complacency in letting it come to this.” I try to bury my head in my hands but the briefcase is in the way. I get an irrational impulse to burn the briefcase that touched such evil. I let my head hang and concentrate on not crying. It helps when Hogan starts to pace, photos in his hands. He stops to kneel in front of me, so I have to look into his eyes. 

“Why did you bring these to me?” I wonder about how to explain that I know he is my personal cross to carry. 

“You’re more than I.” He gives a brief nod, like that made any sense and goes back to pacing. Maybe Hogan accepted my explanation simply because it didn’t say anything about his suspicious activities. He sits on the bottom bunk and looks at me, careful to keep the photos facing down on his knees. He knows if I see them again I’ll go crazy. Our eyes met and Hogan commands me, and I’m grateful beyond words. 

“Klink, I’m going to take these photos. We will never speak of them again, unless somebody comes looking for them.” He holds up a hand to stop my fear, and it works. “I don’t think they will, I doubt they were even supposed to have them outside work. If you left most of the stack behind and nobody saw you, they probably won’t even know they’re gone for a while. If anybody asks, deny you saw them and get a message to me. That work for you?” 

I want to throw my arms around him and thank him for taking this responsibility from me, but I find myself questioning him. Apparently this new morality streak is rather strong. “Hogan, I can’t endanger you with these. Tell me what to do, that’s all I can ask.” 

My head has dropped at some point, from fear and shame, so I don’t see him move. A gentle hand on my shoulder makes me aware and forces me to look up at him. 

“I’ll take this trouble off your hands in exchange for all the trouble I’ve brought down on your head.” 

“Honestly?” The hopeful plea gushes out before I can stop it, because it’s an exchange I’ll gladly make. 

A nod, a pat on the back and Hogan goes back to his bunk. I’m at the door before he can glance at those pictures a second time and come to his senses. I realize I’ve just given in to my baser instincts again and stop with my hand on the doorknob. I talk to the door; afraid I’ll say more than I plan to if I look at him. A heartfelt thank you and I’ll gladly forget this ever happened. 

“Robert, I’m sorry for what I am.” 

That wasn’t what I meant to say by a long shot and I flee before I can do anymore damage. A long shower is an attempt to drown the images in my head before I go to bed. Somehow, at the edge of my bed, I find myself on my knees. Reaching back to my childhood for the proper words, I pray for the first time in a long time. 

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

If I dared to keep a diary, the last week would be a study in confusion. The fifth and sixth of June and I’m head of the General Staff, except I’m not. Massive chaos, champagne and the Allies invade Normandy while we celebrate my promotion. I don’t understand but I am cooperating with the Gestapo investigation. All I had to fall back on was a lifetime of cluelessness and incompetence. My rank protects me from their fists, but even the generals in here know rank’s not bulletproof. So many faceless Gestapo men asking questions, careful to never let their hand leave their gun, I thought Death himself had taken to wearing the swastika. 

My favorite quote serves me well, because I’m not dead yet. Not a quote from the Propaganda Ministry and certainly not from the Gestapo, it comes from Mark Twain. That American said ‘If you always tell the truth, you never have to remember what you said.’ A wonderful word of advice to people with poor memories, and as long as I say things so they flatter the hearer, it works for me. The truth might not set me free, but I can hold on to it as long as they don’t ask about Hogan. 

I must have done something right, flattered the right Gestapo thug, because they came for me and took me back to camp. As I get out and the car pulls away, the prisoners are falling out for roll call. Putting off the comfort of my bed, I wait for Shultz to report. I’m debating a shower as the prisoners are dismissed. It would be great to be clean, but I’m so tired that the bed is more appealing, when I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me. When I turn, I’m not surprised to see Hogan there, what startles me is the grin. The smiles that reach his smoky eyes are rare, and not often directed at me like this. Please God, I pray in my mind, let me remember this sight. 

“Hogan, you should be in your barracks.” I have to say something and this is all that comes to mind. I’m too tired to put anything of a command into it, so it’s a statement of fact. 

“Herrlichen Abend, Colonel.” 

I know Hogan speaks fluent German but he rarely uses it around me. If a visitor doesn’t speak English, Hogan will find just enough German to communicate with them but not for me. Probably thinks I’ll forget, unaware of how my blood turns into liquid desire when he speaks my native tongue to me. Tonight, it makes me aware that he has something to tell me, so I gesture for the guard behind him to leave. 

“What is it, Colonel Hogan?” Emphasis his rank and foreign name, the only defense I have against pulling him to me. “I’m very tired after my interviews with the Gestapo.” 

“I won’t keep you then, I know how stressful it can be to deal with the Gestapo. I just wanted to let you know the seas were rougher than expected on the sixth.” 

“Yes, I overheard the Gestapo talking about that.” It comes into my mind what else they said about the early morning conditions on that particular day. “None of them could understand why the Allies would invade in such weather.” 

His shrug and half smile tells me that’s what he wants to talk about, but not officially. “Some might say it’s because the Allies couldn’t afford to wait for a calmer time, or didn’t have any place to put the soldiers while they waited. I think it’s because they had a proof of evil, if you will. Rumors can be ignored, especially when they are so unbelievable.” 

“Ten or so pictures of that evil, Robert?” I hear the words come out before I can even think about them, and for once my instincts were right. 

“Yeah. I wonder what little angel gave those photos to the Allies?” Hogan winks at me and a flush of heat wakes me up from my shock. “Gute Nacht, Wilhelm.” 

I’m frozen to the porch, watching him whistle as he moves toward his barracks. The light from the searchlights highlights the top of his crush cap and I realize something. The devil can quote scripture for his purposes, and he’s not going to come dressed as the devil. He came to me dressed as comfort and respectability, looking just like me. My angel had no choice but to come to me looking like the devil and temptation, or else I never would have heard him. 

I wish I had recognized Hogan for what he was sooner. I will let my shoulder angel hide his halo under a crush cap as he leads me to do some good in the world. I’ll continue to play my part, but from now on I’ll trust in the guidance of my angel. Maybe by protecting him from the disguised devils among us, I’ll earn another glimpse of heaven and Robert will smile at me. 

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Herrlichen Abend = Wonderful evening

Gute Nacht = Goodnight


End file.
